


Food

by BulmaseekingVegeta



Series: The Prince and the Heiress BVDNs [9]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Smut, F/M, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulmaseekingVegeta/pseuds/BulmaseekingVegeta
Summary: My submission for April's Mature TPTH BVDN.  The theme was Food with 6 prompts of 300-350 words per prompt, I went over in a couple of prompts so sue me.Bulma is working hard to prepare Vegeta a birthday cake, but he interrupts her and decides to put her efforts to an even better use.





	1. Delectable

 

 

 

She really wasn’t sure what she was doing.  Not a single clue.  But she was going with it just the same.

To say cooking was not her forte would be an understatement.  Physics, engineering, chemistry, all the sciences and math; yes, she was freaking brilliant.  The most brilliant person in the world.  But cooking…  Yeah, that was her mother’s realm and Chi Chi’s realm.  Not hers.

For the moment though, she was trying to add it to her repertoire.   For him.

Although, come to think of it.  He might prefer something as basic as a whipped cream bikini with strawberries strategically planted over her nipples and clitoris beneath the creamy white foam.  He certainly _liked_ to lick her enough all the other times they’d had sex.  She grinned like an idiot.  She _liked_ him licking her too.  Or maybe he’d prefer naked sushi.  She was really good at make sushi and Spicy Dragon Rolls were his favorite.  She could make some up, take it upstairs, lay on his bed, adorn her naked body with his meal, drizzle the spicy sauce over the strategically placed pieces, and let him literally feast on her then, she bit her lip, he could really _feast_ on her.

“What are you grinning at, Woman?”

Bulma nearly jumped out of her skin.  Immediately turning around.  The back of her rump braced against the edge of the kitchen counter.  Her body concealing what she was working on, although the mess spanning the entire length of the countertop spoke for itself.

Her eyes wide.  Her mouth hung open, but no words came out.

Vegeta stood in the entrance to the kitchen with his arms crossed over his bare chest, his dark eyes meeting hers.  Waiting for an answer, not getting one, then traveling to the mess spanned behind her.  He sighed, his eyes returning to meet hers.

“You do realize you’re the most delectable thing in the world to me, don’t you, Woman?”

 


	2. A Tiny Bite

She didn’t know what to say.  Her eyes gazed over at the disaster she was turning her kitchen into.  She looked back at him standing there with his arms still crossed over his chest.  He was fresh from yet another training session from the Gravity Chamber in the yard.  He had a white towel over flung over his shoulder, still wearing his tight, navy blue, workout pants and the sneakers her family had given with him with white socks.  She turned away from him to face her foray into baking.

It was a mess.  _She_ was a mess.  _This_ was a mess!

Futilely, she took up the red rubber spatula’s handle and lazily stirred the pink batter.  It was… not… looking… right.  Or at least she thought it wasn’t right.  She meant, cake batter was supposed to be thick, wasn’t it?  Slightly runny.  Not… she lifted the spatula from the bowl and watched the batter drip off it… soupy.

Bulma frowned at it.  Her hand dropped back down and the spatula re-entered the batter with a sloshing _plop!_   She sighed, surprised to feel tears stinging in her eyes.  She dare not sniff so as not to let him kno—

“ _Ahh_ ,” she gasped suddenly.

Out of nowhere, she felt a hot mass of muscle pressed against the back of her body.  She stiffened.  Staring straight ahead of her.

Then she felt an inferno against her cheek and on the top of her shoulder.  He was looking over her shoulder, her breathing shallowed uncontrollably.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” he purred next to her ear and she shivered; she could feel his smirk then—her eyes widened even more and she gulped.

His hips nudged into her behind ever so and she felt her buttocks part through the bubblegum pink, short shorts she had on by something thick, cylindrical, and unbelievably stiff.

“ _Can I have a bite?_ ”  He continued purring.  “ _Can I have a… tiny… bite?_”

As much of a puddle as her cake batter, Bulma nodded dumbly.


	3. Guilty Pleasure

At the bottom of her vision, she watched the arm reach around her left side and take the spatula from her hand.  He swirled it around the large mixing bowl.

“ _Mmmm_ , looks tasty.”  He said in her ear.

She trembled and felt his manhood twitch between her buttocks.  Her breathing became ragged through her nose for a moment.

Bulma watched him spoon up some batter and hold above the bowl.  Watching pink drips pour off of it.  When the dripping stopped, he brought the spatula over her shoulder to his mouth.  She watched its journey.

Then suddenly, right before it reached his mouth, he tipped it downward.  What batter that had managed to stay on the spatula dripped off onto her clavicle.

“Oops, looks like I dropped some,” he cooed by her ear as they watched the pink droplet start to descend down her body towards her left breast.

He leaned down slowly.  His soft lips parted.  His tongue slipped out and the point barely touched her skin as it lapped up the pink batter.  She shuddered convulsively.  He lapped again.  His hot, wet tongue pressing firmly to her quivering flesh as he lapped up the rest of the batter.  He straightened up.  She turned sideways to face him.  Their eyes locked.

“Delicious.”  He mused.  His cock twitching in his pants again.

She bit her lip hard.  Feeling the twitch acutely between her buttocks again.  The look in his eyes… he couldn’t mean it.  He couldn’t mean something like this…  Here!  They couldn’t indulge in a guilty pleasure like this here now.

He slipped the spatula into his mouth, finishing his taste.  Then he broke eye contact to dip it back down into the bowl and swirl the batter again.  This time when he lifted it, he didn’t wait for the drips to stop.  Between them, strawberry cake batter dripped over his pink, spaghetti-strapped, tank top.  Right over her left breast.

“I dribbled again.”  He announced then leaned forward, dropping the spatula in the batter.

She didn’t hear the _splosh_ as his hot tongue made contact with the soft cotton of her top.


	4. Drizzle

His tongue was rough like a cat’s, she knew from personal experience.  Its roughness was lifting her shirt over her bare breast over and over as he licked the batter from it.  She couldn’t help it, her head fell back with a gasp.  His hands pawing at the bottom him of her tank.  She grabbed it and lifted.  Obediently her arms rose and he yanked it up and off them, flinging it somewhere.

“Vegeta,” she gasped, but before she could say anything else, his hand was stirring the spatula in the cake batter again.

Once again, he swirled it, lifted it, and didn’t let the drops fall back into the bowl.  He dripped it over her bare chest.  Drizzling the pale pink over the much more vibrant pink of her pert nipples.

“Vegeta, we should—”

He smeared the cold, rubber spatula over her round, full breasts.  Slathering her breasts in strawberry cake batter.  Again, she couldn’t help it.  She moaned as she watched him, felt his movements.  Finally he abandoned the spatula to the bowl and dove forward.  Pushing her back against the edge of the counter as he cupped her breasts and his mouth found the nipple of her left breast.

_His tongue…  Oh Kami, his tongue_.  Her knees buckled as she clutched the base of his skull.  Her fingers flaring chunks of his hair out at even more angles.

His lips puckered around her nipple and he sucked.  Her knees gave.  He was there to hold her up.  Her head fell forward into his coarse, black hair.  She moaned into his hair.  His hand left her breast as he suckled her and slipped down between her and her short short’s waistband.  And down further.  She started to cry out before stifling it as two of his fingers split her soaked folds, rubbing along her engorged clit before slipping into her, and pumping vigorously in and out of her.

Her knees shook.

“Vegeta, please,” she gasped into his hair, “What about my parents?”


	5. Perfect Presentation

His lips left her nipple long enough to answer, “They’re on the other side of the compound and won’t be anywhere near here for at least another two hours.”  His mouth was on her again, suckling.  Fingers never stopping pumping.

She gave in.  Legs shaking violently.  Fingers digging into his scalp.  Moaning loud enough to echo in the vast empty space.

Suddenly he stopped pumping.  Before she could object to his fingers leaving her, her shorts were a tattered pink mess of rags on the floor.  Quickly she watched him stand back from her, pop his sneakers off his feet, yank his socks off and fling them, and tear his own workout pants to shreds before slamming his forearm down on the countertop beside her.  With one sweep, everything was sent flying.  Ingredients.  Dishes.  The crashing, shattering was deafening.

He reached out to her.  She dashed into his arms.  He lifted her up onto the counter top.  Much farther back than just the edge.  Before she could ask why, he began to climb up on the counter top with her.  She got it.

Bulma scooted back into the center of the counter, positioning herself in the center of its length as he climbed on top of her.  As she balanced on her elbows, she watched him quickly reach behind him and gather up her large, mixing bowl.  He flung the spatula away and tipped the bowl over.

Vegeta poured batter over her body.  It was cold and, and…  She was breathing heavy.  Then her eyes widened as he poured the rest over his own shoulders and chest.  She watched the pale pink stuff slipped over the ripples of his muscles like he’d dumped a bucket of water on himself.  Empty, he flung the bowl away.  It crashed through the glass of the sliding doors that lead out onto the lawn.

He was on top of her.  His mouth mashing against hers.  Their tongues wrestling.  She broke their kiss for a moment.

“Vegeta, happy birthday,” she panted.

“Thank you,” he panted back.

He kissed her fiercely again.


	6. Taste

With a single movement, he slipped his hard cock inside her drenched, waiting entrance.  Her back arched and she cried out.  Kiss broken, his lips dove onto her throat and his powerful thrusts surged their joined bodies up and down along the slick surface of the marbled countertop.  She gripped the back of his skull again as their bodies rubbed the batter into each other’s skins.

His manhood abruptly hit just the right spot and her legs jumped up higher above his hips.  Her body curling in on itself in sudden snap.  Her mouth found the top of his shoulder.  The smell of strawberry filled her nostrils.

He reached a hand out over her, extending above them so he could grip the edge of the counter and prevent his raucous movements from sending them over the edge.  His other hand cupping her breast and massaging the batter into it.  His head dipped down further and began licking batter from her clavicle.

Without hesitation, she licked the batter from his skin.  He groaned wantonly, his licking stopping.  It actually tasted really good and the salt from his skin only made it sweeter.  She devoured his shoulder.  Licking it clean in seconds.  She tried angling her head lower, but he suddenly switched tactics on her.

His hips rolled slowly.  Mercilessly slowly.

“ _Fuck!_ ”  She screamed.

His lips were over hers again.  He was panting so heavily.  He rolled his hips into her again.  She felt just how deeply he was slipping inside her and screamed again, “ _Vegeta!_ ”

“ _Bulma!_ ”  He answered her.  He kissed her.  He let go of the edge.  His hands traversing her body as his hips rolled over and over against her again.

Her knees knocked against his sides.  Legs shaking.  Her hands sent cake batter all over his body.  Over his back.  Slathering his tight, flexing ass with pale pink.  He kept kissing her as his hands made a sticky mess of her body and his cock made a sticky mess of her pussy.  Roll after roll.  He loved kissing her.  Her.  Her love for him.  That was his perfect birthday present.


End file.
